Beauty and a Beast: Beast's Reprise
by RowlingTribute91
Summary: Enobaria proved that she was willing to get dirty when her life hung in the balance. With the 3rd Quarter Quell, she has another chance to prove herself victorious. But don't be mistaken. She knows who the real enemy is. *Sequel to "Beauty and a Beast", but it can be read separately.*
1. Chapter 1

What?

Did I really just hear…?

Doris called my name again.

I've been reaped for the second time.

Oh, this is gonna be fun. None of the other female victors volunteer, and rightly so; I mean, when I was first reaped, I wouldn't even let my own sister volunteer for me. I flash everyone a vicious smile as I ascend the stage stairs. They go crazy; and why wouldn't they? My teeth are my claim to fame. I'm like a shark.

Mom's not here. Dad's not here. And Jetta isn't here, either.

They're dead.

All because I opened my big fat mouth during my Victory Tour. I'd been getting prepped; so I thought, hey, no cameras were around, right? I could say what I wanted.

When I came home to District 2… I found out I was dead wrong. Peacekeepers burst into my house. One of them held me back- you can bet that Peacekeeper earned several scars from me. But he managed to subdue me, long enough for his friends to break out their clubs. To beat up every member of my family until their lives ended. To leave me an orphan at seventeen years old.

I'm thirty four years old now. A little wiser. So I think, anyways. And I'm a total celebrity, especially in the Capitol. At first, I relished the attention. It didn't take long for me to get over it. I mean, who wants to be famous for killing?

Oh, don't act all surprised. There's a human inside this monster, I assure you.

"Welcome back, Enobaria!" Doris cheers as I take the stage. "Now we'll find out who your male tribute is."

Fantastic. Who's gonna be my Hal this time around, I wonder?

"Trent Dursley."

_Trent?_ He's one of the oldest living victors. Poor man won't make it through the bloodbath, especially not after contracting severe arthritis in all his joints. Sad. When I heard about the Quarter Quell, I watched highlight Games videos of every victor from my district; particularly, the victors who won before I was born. He was a seriously kick-ass tribute. Am _I_ gonna kill him? No way. He's a good guy. Neighbor. He reminds me of my grandpa Max. I've made it an unspoken goal to leave the elderly tributes alone; let Gamemakers do the nasty work. Like I said, I _do_ have _some_ morals still.

"I volunteer as tribute," the man next to him says.

A whispered curse word escapes me. I know the man extremely well: Brutus Gunner, who was my mentor- and, at one time… more than a friend.

Hey, I'd been a little desperate at the time, okay? When my life fell apart, he helped me keep it together. And I still care about him a lot. Though twenty-seven years have passed since he won, he's kept up his muscular physique. I just knew he'd volunteer again if he had the chance.

My new district partner shoots me an apologetic expression; so quick that I almost miss it. Brutus isn't known for being a sensitive person. But I can tell you, he's sensitive when he wants to be. When the Capitol doesn't demand him to act otherwise. For their precious victors, it's aalll about image.

"Now, for the mentors: who among the women would like to volunteer?"

"I'll do it." This comes from Phoebe Lyme, a.k.a. the woman who mentored me seventeen years ago. I felt at ease with her; confident; and it went a long way towards my victory. She taught me the meaning of perseverance (just watch her Games- she held onto a branch for five hours straight while tributes were attacked and eaten by mutt piranhas). Having her support again means everything to me.

"And the men?" Doris continues.

"I will," says Odysseus Pollock. He won the 32nd Hunger Games. Brutus knows him better than I do, because they work together at our district's spear factory. As victors, we're not required to work. I tried that for a year or two. It didn't push those ghosts away. I'm much happier when I have something to do. I've got a sweet little sword workshop behind my house; and it keeps me busy from dusk to dawn. Everybody wants a piece of Enobaria Golding.

Which reminds me… What will become of it if I bite the dust? I could have Phoebe take over.

Of course, she doesn't _have_ to, 'cause I _am_ gonna win again. You'll see.

"Good, good, good!" Doris cheers. "Let's give a biiig round of applause for your returning victors, District Two! Happy Hunger Games."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," the audience replies as one.

Brutus joins hands with me, and we pump them high, yelling like bloodthirsty maniacs. I love how intimidating we are together. We've always had the ability to make people shirk away from us on sight; me with my teeth, and he with his rock-like muscles.

Yes, my life is probably almost over- I've got to accept it. Doesn't mean I'll just go quietly. Doesn't mean I'm gonna play a fair game. One last chance to get dirty.

Let's raise some hell!


	2. Chapter 2

I guess I should've seen the Quarter Quell announcement coming; rotten Capitol being who they are. But I'm completely shocked when the Peacekeepers just shove us onto the train. No goodbyes. No last-minute words for my friends or remaining family. As we leave, I watch District 2 disappear, the ice-capped mountains shrinking away. Perhaps my final glance at the place I call home.

"Maybe it doesn't mean much, but I'm really sorry they've done this to you two," he mutters. "_Again_. Heartless demons."

Brutus and I raise our eyebrows. It's not that we don't agree; we're simply more discreet than Odysseus. How can he be that bold, to openly berate the Capitol? Security is at its tightest these days. Peacekeepers won't leave us alone in District 2; and I bet they're waiting just outside our car.

Phoebe, however, hides behind a blank face. "You two basically know what to expect in the arena; mutts, traps, natural disasters…"

I shudder inside, thinking of the mudslide I had to fight through during my last Games.

"But," she goes on, "no Hunger Games has ever involved tributes who've been down this road before. When we watch the reapings, take a good look at your competition. I mean, a _really _good look. You've been mentors long enough to know that you can't always judge people by their appearances."

Brutus gives a fake cough. "_Yeswecan_."

"You wanna say something, Gunner?" Phoebe asks, her sharp, brown eyes staring him down like a hawk.

"You act like the other victors are total strangers to us. But they aren't. After all these years as mentors, you think we don't already know their strengths and weaknesses?"

"Forget I said anything, then, smart guy."

"What she means," Odysseus interrupts, "is that, though you've seen what they can do, they might have gained new skills since their wins. Skills that they're hiding."

Phoebe nods. "Exactly."

"The other tributes are just half of your battle. I'm not sure either of you might be ready for whatever the Gamemakers are planning."

Don't remind me. Nothing frightens me more than obstacles you can't see coming. And that's the truth.

"When you were teens, everything seemed to come easy, and it helped us each win the Hunger Games once. But that was umpteen years ago. You guys are nearly middle-aged now. You'll need to work harder to survive this time around."

"I'm up for the challenge," I say.

"And you know I am, too, 'cause I volunteered," Brutus insists. "I say, bring it!"

"Good attitudes. Well, the Capitol's pretty close, so I suggest we watch the reapings now."

Doris does the honors of turning on the television. "Ooh, this is so exciting!" she exclaims.

Please. Put her in the arena. Put her in there with me _now._ Then we'll discover if she still think it's exciting.

Sadly, that won't happen. Back to the task at hand.

District 1's cameras close in on their tributes: Cashmere Foxworthy. And her brother, Gloss.

Dang. I don't remember a single year where siblings had to enter the arena together. They won pretty recently, too. And I hang out with them a lot, since our districts are so close to each other.

Beetee Kurtz is reaped for District 3. Genius doesn't know how to fight or handle combat weapons. Bad move. The only reason he lived through the Games is because of the electric traps he made. As long as I cut through any wires I might find lying around the arena, he doesn't pose any competition at all. His district partner, Wiress Plummer, isn't very physically skilled, either. Although, she did win by strangling…

Nah, she's no threat to me, either.

With District 4 comes Annie Cresta-

Wait. I take that back. Somebody just volunteered for her.

"Mags?!" I exclaim.

When I lived in District 4, she was the go-to fishing instructor. I made my first net with her; my first hook; and I skinned a fish for the first time with her, too. She may _look _all sweet and innocent, but I saw a video of her Hunger Games. At sixteen, the lady was vicious -and that's saying something, coming from me. One thing I know for sure? She won't die by my hand.

I thought this was tough enough. But it gets worse as I meet her district partner: Finnick Odair.

"Are you serious right now?" I mumble to the screen.

Six years after his sister, Lily Odair- who was my best friend- died in my Hunger Games, he got reaped. A poor little fourteen-year old boy. Nobody thought he could win. He's become quite the charmer. Charm went a long way for him, and so did his good looks. The guy knows how to reel in ladies.

Add him to my 'do-not-kill' list.

Ugh. It's growing by the second. I've gotta draw the line somewhere.

Another tribute that interests me is Johanna Mason, District 7's only female victor. I actually admire the angle she used to win; she even had _me_ fooled. As a mentor, I told my tributes that she wasn't a threat. They paid for it with an arm and a leg. Literally. She's a girl I might want for an ally. Unlike Brutus, Finnick or Mags, I'd have no problem killing her.

With District 12, there's no question who the female tribute will be; seventeen-year old Katniss Everdeen. It's kind of a shame she didn't even have a year to wait before going back into the arena. Her age counts against her now. Popular? Yeah. Capable of holding her own against the rest of us adults? Haha. Don't make me laugh.

Then, they reap Haymitch Abernathy; the man who won the Second Quarter Quell by outliving forty-seven people. If that's not a person who's determined to survive, I don't know what is. I'd be afraid of him, except for the fact that he's all washed up now. Total drunk.

His fellow victor, Peeta Mellark, suddenly volunteers to take his place. He shouldn't even be standing there. Another reason to take Katniss out as soon as possible. Her 'they- don't-need- a- victor' double-suicide attempt is probably what inspired Snow to reap victors in the first place!

Teenagers.


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you think, my dear tributes?" Pan asks me, his face literally glowing. "Amaaazing, isn't it?"

I touch the horns of my Viking helmet. "Yeah. Amazing. I really feel like I'm about to pillage some towns."

"That's what I wanna hear! I was going for authenticity, you know?"

"You did good," Brutus allows.

Once our prep team's been dismissed, Brutus and I both roll our eyes.

"I feel like a moose," I say. He wears a ridiculous helmet as well, with clunky sheepskin boots and a coat made of wolf fur. I'll admit, though. The outfit's got its perks. Such as his bare chest. Reminds me of when we…

Am I kidding myself here? I've no business dwelling on our history. None. But _my_ getup's probably not doing him any favors, either. This black jumpsuit under my coat exposes a lot of skin, strategically covering my lady parts. I catch him scanning me in approval.

Uh… Should I take that as a complement?

"Could be worse, though," he says, reminding me that the past is gone. "We could be District Eight." He points behind us to Cecelia and Woof, the textile district's victors. "See them?"

"Wow."

They're both wearing patchwork quilts around their bodies. _Just_ quilts. Cecelia makes it look okay-she's a year or so younger than me- but Woof is in his sixties. Nobody should have to see an old man's wrinkly chest!

"Enobaria!" someone shouts behind me. I turn around, and there's Cashmere, dressed as royalty. Gloss stands beside her. I give them hugs, doing the best I can to pretend that we aren't going into the arena together soon. We'll be allies, sure, but it won't last.

"Did you finish renovating your room yet?" I ask Cashmere. She'd been talking about this to me for _months_ over the phone, always asking my opinion:

_What do you think about teal walls? Or, wait… maybe I should go pink. No, no, no, I shouldn't pick a frilly color. How about royal blue?_

The girl is _extremely_ indecisive. So I recommended one of my friends from District 2, and he works for Cashmere on the weekends.

"Sad to say, we didn't," she replies. "It's a shame, really. Ky and me rearranged the furniture around the whole house, cause it needed a change, too; of course, we did that about a million times. Then we started on primer yesterday."

"Let me guess. Purple."

"Yeah," Cashmere confirms solemnly. We both know things such as room décor are pathetically unimportant here, but who cares? Whatever keeps us sane.

She plasters on a smile as the District 1 carriage starts moving. Our carriage takes off right after, followed by Beetee and Wiress; and Mags and Finnick-I swallow a lump in my throat when I see them. I haven't felt comfortable talking to them yet. It still hasn't hit me that I might have to kill him, the brother of my dead best friend. I try to imagine what Lily would look like at his age; just as good-looking, tan, and with the same cocky grin. Sixteen other victors wait behind him in their chariots. After beating impossible odds, we find ourselves once more being presented to sponsors.

We were _promised _a full life if we won the Hunger Games. An empty promise, clearly.

There's President Snow, sitting on his ooh-look-how-important-I-am throne. I could laugh. Or puke. Everybody's heard rumors about him poisoning his competition; that he had to drink some poison as well, just so they wouldn't suspect anything. Well, despite a makeup job, the sick grandpa I see before me leaves no doubts. I saw him cough up blood into his drink during the Victory Tour party at his mansion. That was months ago. His number could be up any day now…

How delightfully satisfying.

He looks my way, and I offer him a flashy smile. To anyone else, it probably looks genuine. But for him, I make sure the message is clear:

_You're a dead man walking. _


	4. Chapter 4

I arrive in the training center first. Would you believe I got here before Brutus? He's obsessed with waking up early to exercise, always hoping to get a leg on the competition. He makes everything into a competition. You could say I learned a lot from him.

Score: Enobaria- 1; Brutus- 0.

More victors enter the room while I toss knives, but I don't pay them any mind. I haven't been this focused in years. One set of knife throws later, I decide to break for a drink. Phoebe wasn't kidding; my energy drains faster than it did when I was sixteen. Need some fuel.

"How's it going, Enobaria?" a voice calls out as I sip from the water fountain. Low and behold… it's Finnick, holding a silver trident.

"As good as it can get," I admit. "How's Annie? I take it she's a basket case, after yesterday."

He sighs, scratching his golden head of hair. "Like you wouldn't believe. Just when she was getting better, too. At least she's here, mentoring. So we'll be able to, you know- say goodbye."

"Yeah."

What else am I supposed to say? _I'm glad you don't have to go in the arena with your girlfriend? I'm sorry about Mags?_

"Look, I actually came to you because I had a question: would you want to be allies? You, me and Mags? Maybe we can add some others that you want, too?"

"No" is my immediate answer. "It's… it's easier this way." My voice starts cracking.

"Why not? Because of Lily?"

"Possibly…"

"Really?" He seems amazed that I have a soft side. "Yeah, you and my sister were pals, but I'm not her. You barely know me. So I'll understand if you… if you end up killing me."

I don't have the heart to tell him that Lily was actually in love with me; and that it makes the possibility of murdering her brother even harder to bear. Dead or alive, it would be treachery in her eyes.

"Just stay away from me, Odair," I reply firmly.

Moving on to another station- and my favorite one at that- is precisely what the doctor ordered. Sword combat! The sword instructor, Nigel, pushes my battle skills to a new level. He's larger than Brutus, which means I've got serious work ahead of me. And that's the way I like it. I thrive under pressure.

Oh, look who just walked in. Katniss Everdeen and her precious fiancé, Peeta Mellark. They're both half my age. Easy prey. When I turn completely into her view, I clench my teeth and let out a hiss.

Whatcha want, biotch.

I pass the day alternating stations, practicing with everything from spears, to axes, to weights, to ropes, to plant identification. There's no telling what weapons they might stock inside the Cornucopia. Look at my first Games, when I had to settle for a speared club. I like being versatile.

Practice is just about to wrap up now, but all the other victors are standing by the archery station, watching in awe. I know exactly who's getting this attention. There's only one victor here who excels at archery: Katniss Everdeen.

Okay. She doesn't just excel. Her arrows never fail to strike true. I was pretty mediocre with a bow and arrow last time I tried it; but I don't need archery when I have knives and swords on my side. Still… Katniss makes it seem as easy as breathing. She keeps the bull's-eyes coming until her exercise finishes. Wiress claps ecstatically, wearing the geekiest smile a person can manage. Cashmere and I roll our eyes at each other. It's like we're back in school, the popular girls making fun of the nerd. Go figure, eh? The apocalypse ripped through North America; the United States became Panem; and the Hunger Games were established; but we've still got cliques.

Some things never change.

* * *

I stop by the mentor's table at lunch, seeking a certain drunk that led Katniss Everdeen to victory. He's currently chugging down a cup of scotch while his nasty, dirt-blond hair gets dipped in alcohol. Disgusting. _This _guy single-handedly killed off both of the boys from my district? Wow.

"Yo, Haymitch," I say. "We- me, Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus-we want Katniss in with us. Can you pass along the message?"

"Uh… sure," he says. "You know Peeta's desperate to stay with her, so, it's a package deal."

"Yes, we know." Peeta does have his useful qualities, like camouflage and strength. We'll need to wait it out for a few days before we kill him.

Haymitch nods slowly, his eyes shutting. "Okeedokee. I'll get back to you on it, Queen of the Dead."

"What did you call me?" That nickname perks my amusement.

"It's your teeth… they remind me of vampires. Never heard that one before?"

"Nope," I admit, shrugging. "I guess it's the tan skin that throws people off."

Haymitch laughs, like he didn't expect me to crack a joke. "I guess so. See ya later."

You know, he's not half so bad for a drunk; and he has good reason for turning to the bottle. All of his family's dead. Just like mine. We've both transformed ourselves into addicts. The only difference is that work is my drug, not alcohol. A sad life we victors lead.

Gloss, Cashmere, Brutus and I are having breakfast together the next morning when Haymitch approaches us with our answer.

"What did she say?" Brutus asks.

He gives us an impatient look, like, _why don't you ask her yourself?_ But still, he says, "Uh… she hasn't decided yet. Give her some time and maybe she'll accept you as allies. _Maybe_. Personally, I wouldn't bet on it. She likes being independent. I think Peeta's the only ally she really wants. Sorry."

"Thanks for trying, though," Cashmere tells him as he departs.

Gloss shakes his head. "Whatever. She killed both of our district's tributes last year. Killing her and the baker boy would make us even. When you think of it that way, we don't owe her anything."

This reminds me that Katniss killed one of my district's tributes, too. Cato. Yeah, he was being ripped to pieces and she wanted to spare him anymore pain, but I couldn't care less since my life is at stake- for the second time. It gives me the initiative I need to kill her. _And_ get this… Brutus was his uncle. I've only seen Brutus cry once, when he watched his nephew get mauled by vicious mutt wolves. He kept begging Katniss to shoot Cato. She waited a horrific _ten _hours until she actually did it. Poor Cato suffered like none of us could even imagine. Believe me; Brutus has a score to settle with 'The Girl on Fire'.

"You're right," I say. "Let's take her down."

She just made four deadly enemies.


	5. Chapter 5

The only bright spot about being a tribute again? I get to show my skills off to a whole new generation. New Gamemakers, especially. I eagerly await my turn for exhibition. But I can't use swords a second time. It might imply that I've lost other valuable skills over the years; which is completely false. So, once I'm called up, I don't grab a sword. Too predictable. With nearly two decades having passed since my victory-oh wow, I feel old- Capitol people tend to forget where I really came from.

My choice? District 4's prized weapon, the trident. I'm no Finnick Odair, but I get a kick out of surprising people with my abilities. Girls can't throw spears or tridents. No matter how much they practice, they're terrible at it.

Haha. Whoever said that hasn't met yours truly. I run myself through what I call "the trident gauntlet". It has three parts. First, I demonstrate how well I can throw it. My trident strikes near the bulls-eye. Which, I guess, I can live with. I have two more tries. They land accurately, to the amazement of every Gamemaker. Wouldn't be the first time somebody underestimated me. Minus my sharpened teeth, I don't really look all that imposing, being so scrawny.

Stage two: Using a simulated "fish tank", I spear as many "fish" as I can in a minute. My least favorite part. Speed isn't on my side, now that I've grown older and movement has grown harder. I still impale three "fish" successfully before the time's up. Not my worst.

Lastly, another round of throwing-but with targets that move. The most difficult task, because timing is everything. What's worse, I only get _one_ bulls-eye. I never veer from the target, at least; but I could've done better.

_Oh, come on, Enobaria_, I think as I exit the room_. Don't be so hard on yourself. _

Can't help it. Seventeen years ago, I didn't give 110% effort, and I almost died. I won by the skin of my teeth-no pun intended. A little competitive spirit doesn't hurt.

When District 2's entire team gathers together to learn our ratings, Odysseus is noticeably absent.

"Must be snoozing in his room after all the food he just ate," Phoebe mumbles. "You know how he is. Let's give him some rest. He'll find out the scores later, anyways."

Brutus and I nod. I honestly don't know how Odysseus isn't packing on weight; because he eats incessantly. Every victor has their vice.

Oh, here come the ratings. Could there be anything more nerve-racking? In my opinion, that's a big _no_. Cashmere and Gloss both get a 9. Not bad, but not quite great. I'm hoping for an 11. Yeah, she's ambitious, ladies and gents.

And now… there's my face. "Enobaria Golding: Ten."

"You're kidding!" I exclaim, jumping to my feet.

Most tributes would envy that score; but it just frustrates me. Katniss Everdeen earned an _eleven_ last year. A record. So why can't I get the same rating? I won using my _teeth_, damn it!

Phoebe yanks me back down in my seat. "Chill out, Enobaria. The sponsors love you, and you're in amazing shape. Besides, remember the victors who had lousy ratings? Like Johanna Mason? She won with a score of _six_. I thought getting an _eight_ was bad. But I'm still here, aren't I? Ultimately, scores won't mean squat."

"Okay," I agree, rolling my eyes. Phoebe's not the competitive type. Really, she won out of her passion for life, not because she yearned to prove herself to anybody. A completely different victory.

Brutus appears onscreen after me, accompanied with a solid number 10.

"That's one better than the rating I got before," he says happily.

Oh. I forgot about his old score.

"Congrats," I tell him.

Assessing every victor's age and their skills, I've come to one conclusion: It's very, _very_ likely that Brutus and I could be the last tributes standing.

What then?

Oh no no no no _no_. I'll cross that bridge _if_ or _when_ I get to it.

Suddenly…

The screen blinks off and on, switching to a different scene. It's the last place anybody wants to be in. All you see are concrete walls. No windows. Peacekeepers around every corner. I've only heard of this place, and it fills my nightmares.

They're broadcasting straight from the Capitol dungeons. Two Peacekeepers hold onto a middle-aged man, who has the largest, ugliest potbelly I've ever seen. He stomps on their feet, but they only tighten their grip.

Then the beatings start.

"Wait a minute," I mutter. "That's not…"

"Odysseus!" Phoebe exclaims.

Our prep teams gasp as one. A bunch of clones, I tell you. They couldn't think for themselves if they were paid to.

Brutus furrows his eyebrows with anger. "We have to do something," he says.

I agree. But instead of saying so, I offer him a reminder of how cruel our country is. "Brutus… even if we got to Odysseus in time, what about the people we care about back home? Nobody's safe anymore."

Everybody in the room looks sullen. It pleases me; watching people who were born and pampered in the Capitol react like this. Not even _they_ can deny that things are getting out of hand.

_Is Odysseus only being broadcast on our floor? _I wonder. That would be President Snow's style. Making sure the people who knew the victim best are the ones watching. The method definitely works, as we're unable to break focus on our mentor. Odysseus never quits struggling for release.

One Peacekeeper suddenly raises his gun and fires. Straight into his bruised head. And so ends the life of another victor.

We're just fabulous, aren't we?


	6. Chapter 6

"And now, please welcome back to the stage District Two's queen of carnage, victor of the Fifty-Eighth annual Hunger Games, Miss Enobaria Golding!"

Queen of carnage. That's my name; don't wear it out. I stroll downstage in a crimson gown, colored to resemble all the blood I've shed, according to Pan. Why he chose it just irritates me. Did I _really_ need another reminder that I'm a killer? That I'm going to kill again? How could I forget the worst two weeks of my life? _Possibly_?

God bless Panem.

Caesar Flickerman lends me a hand as we sit down, flashing an abnormally white smile.

"We've heard from the star-crossed siblings of District One; and understandably, they got our tears flowing," he says. "So, I have to ask: How do _you_ feel about being a tribute for a second time?"

"Well…" _How do I __feel__? I hate your stupid happy face. I hate Snow for making me go back into the arena. I hate everyone in the Capitol with a passion. _

Can't very well say this, obviously. I choose my words carefully: "Of course, I was taken aback when I found out; but I'm ready. I've never stopped training, really. I just had a feeling that I'd need the skills again…" See, it's clever enough to express my sarcastic anger, yet subdued enough to keep my loved ones protected.

"I expect you're thrilled to have a weapon that can be used at any moment."

"You _bet_ I am," I say. "I mean, it felt good to win the Games with my old teeth, but with my new teeth, I could do twice the damage. I'm just itching to try them out."

_Read between the lines, Snow. Read between the freaking lines. _I'm itching to try them out, all right. On _him_.

"Show Panem those golden beauties, won't you?" Caesar asks.

If you insist. They do make me look awesome. But honestly, I _hate_ that I'm known for my razor teeth. It commemorates a moment when I was unarmed; petrified of death; and without any sane options.

Only I know the truth: The Capitol forced these teeth on me, after they killed my family. I'd been totally knocked out while they performed the procedure. God forbid I criticize Panem's warped sense of justice.

Why can't they just round up some Capitol people instead?

* * *

Twelve hours from now, I'm supposed to begin slaughtering people I've known for most of my life. Friends. Former lovers…

You know, at one point, I despised Brutus. We didn't talk for weeks after our breakup. It's been thirteen years since we were together. Tonight, while my free time runs out, I don't wanna spend it with anybody else.

"Can you believe we're tributes again?" he asks me as we exit the elevator, onto our district's floor.

"Still hasn't hit me yet," I admit. "I feel like I'm stuck in some bad dream. I just wanna wake up already."

"Things aren't any better outside the arena, though."

"You, volunteering for Trent… it was nice and all; but why would you intentionally throw up your life to chance, for a second time?" The question's been on my tongue for a while.

He cocks his head, as if the answer's obvious. "Oh, come on. Sparing Trent was just part of it. You know why I really volunteered."

"No, I don't."

"I'm here to protect someone," he says. "Even if it results in my death. I needed to be there for them."

"Who?"

"Are you really playing coy with me right now? You know who. I'll give you one hint, Golding: I'm staring at her."

Okay. I swore I'd never so much as kiss him again; but I've got one last night before my life becomes unpredictable, and I'm not about to waste it. Oh, he's so close now. So I cover his mouth with mine. He responds hungrily, driving me against the door. I turn the knob to let us into his room. We slip inside, and I lead the way towards his bed, our kiss deepening until I can barely contain my groans. There's a brief pause while we try catching our breath.

"Listen," Brutus tells me, "if the Games come down to-"

I shove him onto the bed; and he drags me down with him. "Save it, big guy," I whisper in his ear. "Right now, the only thing I wanna hear from you is my name."

"Enobaria."

Even his voice gives me shivers. In a flash, he's peeled my dress off. I get busy with removing his shirt and pants.

What happens between us… I wouldn't say it comes out of love for each other. Or… maybe it does? I don't know… I'm so confused. There's a reason we didn't last before. We're too damaged to think about a serious relationship. Just as well that we're about to die, then.

* * *

I get up before the sun even rises. Don't want my prep team to see me out of my room. But as I leave Brutus, I plant a kiss on his forehead. Just so he knows that I really do care. Nothing we've ever done was meaningless. Not even the murders we've committed -and are about to commit. One day these stupid Hunger Games will make sense, so Phoebe says.

Sure it will. When my life ends.

I hardly recall eating breakfast; putting on the outfit that I'll probably die wearing; saying farewell to the prep team; getting a new tracker; or the hovercraft ride. It comes in a series of blurs, mostly. Next thing I know, I'm riding up, out of the launch tube.

Oh hey, arena. Long time, no see. Now I understand why I was given a wetsuit: most of this place is covered in water. A vast jungle eclipses our tribute circle, which is centered round the Cornucopia. Diagonal, rocky pathways lead us in either direction. They can only be reached by swimming. Boy, do I pity the victors who don't know how to swim. District 4 requires every citizen to learn; it's part of the school curriculum. I'll never take those classes for granted. Ever.

_Tick, tock_ go the seconds. Five more seconds. And then-

Game time.


	7. Chapter 7

_"You're killing me slow_

_But I ain't ready to die."_

-Skillet

Ocean water enters my nose as I dive under. Stroke after stroke, I see the Cornucopia grow closer to me.

My hands touch stone. I push up onto the pathway, wary of slipping on wet rocks, and head for weapons. I don't get far before I realize that somebody's already on guard at the Cornucopia. Katniss Everdeen has her bow raised for attack. From another direction, she shoots Gloss in the leg, and he falls backwards with a splash. Her next target… is me. But I almost don't notice this until her arrow takes flight.

What did I tell you? Wicked fast archer. She's not stupid, I'll confess. She knows what a threat I am. Instinct has me plunging into water again. When I surface alongside the Cornucopia, I don't hesitate. I scramble inside its steel walls to see what it holds. There are weapons and supplies galore, but-crap- I look everywhere, and there's no food! Of _course_ they'd make us hunt. The Hunger Games just got more complicated for me. I could snag fish in a net, though… right. That's the solution. _Thank you_, ocean. _Thank you_, District 4 childhood.

I know exactly what I'm picking up first. One of the dozen swords that glisten in front of me. Another woman has her eye on them, too: Cecelia Sanchez, from District 8. As she grabs a sword, I shove her aside. Cecelia pushes me in return. I try again, harder, and she lands on a supply crate. Our blades screech together like nails on a chalkboard. But I don't let the awful noise distract me. Rather, I strike Cecelia's sword right out of her fingers. I transfer my foot onto her stomach, which leaves her pinned down and unarmed.

"Please, don't!" she screams.

I raise the sword, aiming for her heart, and I bend my elbows backwards. A stabbing position. "Goodbye."

Then I make my first kill in seventeen years. To my credit, I take Cecelia's life quickly. No prolonged torture. I can at least grant her this mercy. Never mind that she leaves behind three children. I seem to remember her saying once, at a mentor's meeting, that her husband died a few years back.

_Her poor kids… _

No! No way can I start thinking about this right now. I'm not supposed to care. I'm just a robot. There aren't any other tributes around here yet, so I use the break to save my energy, grab a couple knives. Screams erupt outside.

I guess I've found them.

Some retreat into the Cornucopia, unaware that I lie in wait. There's Beetee. Crawling to his beloved wires. While he's got his back turned, I toss one knife in his direction, and he slumps over. I don't bother sticking around to finish him off. Let's see him figure his way out of this.

My eyes just capture the image of a tribute running up behind me. The girl from District 10. She won within the last decade or so, I think. What was her name again? Tiffany? It doesn't matter anymore. She's a nameless face as far as I'm concerned. I spin around, and my sword makes contact with her chest. Only then do I notice Tiffany was injured before our encounter. Crimson stains bloom around her left thigh. Right at a major artery, from what my basic knowledge of human anatomy tells me. I technically just gave her a scratch in comparison.

It's the earlier wound that kills her seconds later.

Next priority: I look for Brutus. He's probably killing somebody right about now. When I leave the Cornucopia, I find Seeder, District 11's female. Dead. Judging by her wound, she received a knife in her neck. Cashmere's doing, I bet. She throws with deadly accuracy. One toss is all it took.

Gloss appears in my peripheral vision, launching his own knives at running tributes. He gets the District 6 man clean through the back.

"Remember the plan," he whispers to me. "See you soon, hopefully."

"All right. Good luck."

We'd talked over our strategy in training: Brutus and I are supposed to team up to find water, while Gloss and Cashmere will hold off tributes until every person's either fled from the Cornucopia or dead; then, they'll collect extra weapons for our group. In theory, the siblings are gonna meet back with me and Brutus tonight.

Speaking of him- I was right. I discover him just as he's released a spear, which plunges through the woman from District 9. Our eyes cross paths. He yanks the spear out fast, and I get the hint. Now is when we'll make an escape.

I try counting the cannons along our run. Eight, I think. And- unless I'm hallucinating- a bolt of lightning flashes somewhere across my peripheral vision. Those Gamemakers can hardly stand being assigned to a Quarter Quell without revving their engines immediately.

Man, breathing gets difficult after ten minutes of running deep inside the jungle. There are rocks by the dozen in our current location, some flat enough to sit on. They look so tempting right now.

"Why don't we rest for a bit?" I ask Brutus.

He nods, slowing to a walk. "Sounds good. Feeling pretty worn-out… especially after yesterday…"

"Oh really?' I tease; and we settle into comfy positions on the rocks we've chosen. Where we should go next, I haven't the slightest clue. But water's our primary necessity. Can't go without it in such humidity. Lazy Pants Woman here refuses to move off her butt yet.

_Come on, Enobaria. Don't let your guard down. _Well. I suppose I can still look around me. No matter where my eyes land, I just can't find any sign of water. Every jungle has streams, waterfalls, or some kind of oasis, right?

"Heads up," Brutus suddenly says. "I see a parachute coming down."

"Maybe we'll get a clue about where to find water."

He stands and catches the parachute in mid-air. "Would be nice, wouldn't it? This heat could kill us before anything else does."

Inside this parachute, he uncovers a bag of cheese and bread (Yum, snack time!), along with a note.

"What does it say?" I ask him.

"It's from Phoebe. She wrote, 'look to the trees.'"

I peer to my right, where a host of palm trees are planted. "Hmm. Wonder what would happen if I stab one?"

"Let's give it a try."

As I rise, rocks begin to fall out from under me.


	8. Chapter 8

It's like the earth is crumbling to pieces. I dodge towards the right, where land still remains firm. But even that doesn't last. I protect myself by curling into a ball as I go careening out of control. Weightless. Have I been run off a precipice? Jungle greenery blurs past, giving me no indications about where I'm headed. I could hit something and get crushed instantly. And the rocks keep falling.

_Please, God, if I'm going to die, make it fast. _

When my sanity returns, I realize that I'm not flying through the air. I've been rolling down a hill. Rolling, rolling, rolling…

"Gah!"

I crash into a bush, and a branch has stabbed me in the arm. But I can't stop. More rocks are assaulting me, gigantic things at that; so I stay low to the ground as they fly by. A sandy beach lies ahead. Instead of continuing past jungle territory, the rocks do something that baffles me. They bounce backwards like boomerangs. As if there's some invisible wall keeping this beach area protected. My sanctuary!

_Keep. Crawling, Enobaria._

I can somewhat hear Brutus grunting while he avoids the rocks.

"Look in front of you!" I shout.

We both make it onto shore within a few minutes- though it might as well have been forever.

"The beach must be a safe zone," I conclude, gently pulling the branch out of my arm. It's a shallow wound, thankfully. Relief swirls inside me. "I wouldn't expect it to be permanent, though."

"Never," he agrees. We know to stay on guard twenty-four seven. A special arena just heightens the danger.

Finally, I test a beach-side tree to see if they actually hold water. Ocean water's not good to drink. One stab of my sword is enough. Success!

"Looks like we were right," I tell Brutus happily. "Drink up, big guy."

He prods his spear into the tree; and we both enjoy the water to our heart's content. While we're here, we impale a couple fishes, too. Not bad. You know, for the Hunger Games.

Leaves start rustling.

"Who's there?" Brutus demands.

"To the victors go the spoils!" someone female responds.

It's our alliance code. We agreed on saying this in the event that we got separated; so Brutus and I hold back from attacking.

The District 1 crew is alive!

"We've brought goodies," Gloss says as they approach. He carries two spears, and three machetes are slung on his back. Cashmere has dozens of throwing knives, plus, a bag with other supplies. Her brother hands me a machete. Brutus, of course, is given the spears. Then Cashmere distributes the knives amongst each of us. She also gets the third machete. Very useful, blades. I slip each knife- now I have ten- into my new holster belt.

"Ooh," I joke, "did my birthday come early or what?"

Once Cashmere and Gloss have their fill of water, everybody agrees to leave. Investigate this new, tropical place. Hey, you know the saying: it's a jungle out there. I've been told that jungles exist all over the world, farther south of Panem. Haven't ever visited one before, though. President Snow forbids international travel. I feel less secure in such a foreign environment- meaning I jerk my head at every little sound. Funny, how the Games make me so paranoid when I'm usually so confident. But do I really have a choice?

Welcome to my nightmare.

Suddenly, I feel something slimy twisting around my ankles. Like a snake. My vision drops below, and… worse than I thought. I'm in the clutches of a fat, fifty-foot long, _anaconda_. Its dark green skin helped it blend with the jungle, but it's kind of hard to miss now that it's slithering up my legs. Though I swing my sword right for its head, it dodges me. More strikes only result in more fails.

Slowly, my arms are losing function- oh, man, it's almost to my shoulders now- leaving me defenseless; but thankfully, I haven't angered the snake enough for it to squeeze me yet.

I let out a long "Psssst" to my allies. Yelling, showing any signs of fear, would only make this reptile crush me to death- or maybe eat me alive. Like I wanna die in the mouth of a snake.

"Oh my god," Cashmere whispers, stepping around the anaconda. Brutus and Gloss widen their eyes at the sight of me.

"A little help would be nice," I say. Brutus threatens it with his spear. Imagine how delighted I am when his trick works, and the anaconda starts to uncoil from me. Human or not, everything runs from sharp points. But I make a big mistake as it reaches my lower right leg.

I take one, itty-bitty step, and it tightens, remembering what a delicious meal it was about to have. Tighter. Tighter.

"Aah!" I scream.

Incredible fire races through me from foot to knee. Well, this sucks. I won't be walking for weeks. And by 'weeks', I mean, I'm gonna be wounded until I die.

Yes, I _will_ die. There's no chance for me to survive without the use of both legs. But my allies unleash their combined weapon power; Brutus pins it down, and District 1's victors chop, chop, chop. Soon, the anaconda lies severed underneath my feet.

Isn't that strange? Usually, if a tribute were in jeopardy, their allies would ditch them in a heartbeat.

This year's tributes are definitely not typical.

Seconds after I hobble away from our reptile opponent, I catch a glimpse of something beyond comprehension.

"Crap," Gloss mumbles.

_Crap_ is right. "Are you kidding me?"

The snake has regenerated… and now, a second head is attached.


	9. Chapter 9

_"What a shame we all became_

_Such fragile, broken things_

_A memory remains_

_Just a tiny spark."_

-Paramore

Oh, thanks, Gamemakers. Thanks. Scientifically, it shouldn't be possible. Snakes don't regenerate. No denying that it would grow more heads if we mutilated it again. There's only one thing we can do at a time like this.

"Run to the beach," I demand. "Go!"

"What about your leg?" Cashmere asks me.

"One of us guys should carry her," Gloss replies.

Brutus points behind his back. "Well, come on, then."

With Cashmere's help, I jump onto his shoulders. Figures. I'm still the size of a child; piggy-back riding won't strain him. But it's hilarious, considering I slept with him last night. My allies continually look back as we're pursued by our reptile friend.

"Quit staring and keep running!" I shout.

Cashmere squeals. "What? You're crazy. It's only gonna kill us!"

"Trust me. I think it'll stop at some point."

We find the shoreline sooner than I thought we might. Just as I'd hoped, behind us comes a _SMACK. _The anaconda's blocked by the same barrier that blocked the rocks earlier.

"Huh," Gloss says, putting a finger under his chin. "Just when things couldn't get more bizarre…"

"And you're surprised… why?" Brutus asks.

"Nah. Not surprised. Just amazed that Gamemakers would show us any charity after something like that- you know, with that barrier. Even Gold Shark couldn't have killed the snake by herself."

Gold Shark is me. Gloss came up with that nickname fresh off his victory, when he was a seventeen-year old, hormonal kid. Had a giant crush on me. I'm not joking. Haha. The last girlfriend he had- I think- was one of District 1's victors; Diamond Marx. Would make sense, since victors understand one another so well.

Just being near the beach relaxes me. It feels so much like District 4 here that I can almost fool myself into thinking I'm not actually on the land where I'll draw my last breath. We continue trekking through sand in search of tributes. Whether they decide to ally with us or get killed is up to them.

Hold that thought. Now, we've stumbled upon a spacious field of these long, strange plants that I can't quite identify at first. Their tops are shaped like clams, with spikes around their bodies. Cashmere rubs her arm against one and-

"Ow!"

I should say; their _mouths. _

"You guys. If you're gonna come any closer, stay. Still," she urges. "Venus fly traps only bite if they sense motion. Should've recognized them before… Ah, it's sharp!"

So that's what they are. The Gamemakers have genetically enlarged these fly traps; and each one is about as tall as I am. Cashmere struggles to yank herself from the plant's grip, blood running down her arm. She gives it a whack with her machete. But nothing happens.

I hear her whisper, "Fire." Then, louder: "Somebody, start a fire. I think it won't die otherwise."

"Not until we get you free," Gloss insists. It's he who makes the pull that releases her.

Brutus observes the stone- littered terrain. "How about we _don't_ burn them down? Think that over. That's like destroying the arena."  
"Oh. You're right," she replies, ripping off a piece from her sleeve and tying it around to decrease bleeding. I see a grizzly wound where she was bitten. More like _chewed_. Ugh. It's disgusting. I may have committed the most nauseating kill in Hunger Games history, but I've never, _ever_, watched a replay of it. I mean, nobody in her right mind enjoys gore.

Option one: go back towards the anaconda. Option two: face Venus fly traps. And the field stretches way, way, _way _past us.

Our next alternative? Crawling. We go at a snail's pace, one by one, inch by inch, to the safest place within reach. Well, I basically drag myself because of my broken leg. I feel tickling sensations as the fly traps unsuccessfully search for me. My allies and I find ourselves back on sandy, secure ground. _Oh, beach, how I missed you!_

Though we each sustain a few scratches, our patience is rewarded. A parachute falls beside me, with my district's seal on the package. Awesome. It must be medicine for my leg. Cashmere also receives meds, a salve that will repair broken skin from the Venus fly trap attack. As I predicted, I uncover a vile of liquid in my parachute- it's supposed to heal bones overnight, the label says.

"Thank you!" I yell to the sky. I'm saved! Healed bones are just a sleep away. You wouldn't believe what Capitol doctors have created lately.

And with the vile, a note:

_District 4 wishes to reward you, for all the years you spent as one of us. Keep the fight alive, Enobaria. –Annie _

Oh, dear Annie Cresta. She's a sweet girl. A little crazy (do _not _put yourself anywhere near her when fireworks go off; they remind her of cannons), but sweet. Finnick is really good for her. Poor woman will completely lose it when he's gone.

I might, too.

Before I drink, I raise the vile and say, "Here's to the people of District 4."

To a district in rebellion. To their victors. To the place where I spent the best days of my life.

It's hard, watching above when the fallen tributes are honored. They weren't strangers to me. Far from it. Beetee isn't one of them. How the heck did he survive my blade? I must not have thrown very hard. Oh well. Surely he's become debilitated, which is a terrible place to be on just the first day.

Look who's talking, eh?

All in all, eight victors have fallen. Eight people who went to hell and back and survived; only to be thrown into hell once more. Last night, we were a team joining hands. Nearly like… like a family. How did we suddenly betray those deceased victors? How _could_ we? Only seventy-five people in the entire country have known real bloodshed. The pain we fought so hard to bury. We have a bond nobody else would comprehend.

I hate to say it, but President Snow was right. Even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.


	10. Chapter 10

Day 2 begins at the wonderful beach. And guess what else is special about today? Go on. Guess.

My thirty-fifth birthday.

Nothing, not the Hunger Games, or that stupid leg injury, can dampen my optimism. The leg's repairing fast. We made a fancy brace out of two giant leaves yesterday. This morning, Phoebe sends me the finest brace District 2 can afford; comfortable and sturdy enough to assist me in walking. Running, too! Amazing.

Gloss hands me a headless fish he just cooked. "First breakfast plate goes to the birthday girl," he says. "Consider this my gift."

"Aw, thanks." Can I make him my honorary brother? I always wanted one. A younger sibling I could look after. Sometimes being the baby of my family was depressing. Getting Jetta's hand-me-downs (we weren't exactly rich before I won); Always stuck in her shadow. Couldn't beat her at anything. I couldn't even protect her against the Peacekeepers.

"You already got _my_ birthday present," Brutus says when the others aren't listening.

"I think it might've been the greatest present of my life," I reply, winking.

"What can I say? There are definitely benefits to being _your _friend."

Adults will be adults.

We get sent five delicious bread rolls to go with the fish. I could spend hours chewing on mine-so delicious. Ah, the simple things in life.

But when Cashmere reaches for the last roll, I lose it.

"You're eating my roll!"

"Really? Cause nobody called it," she argues.

"Well, now I am. I deserve a little extra today. Give it back."

Cashmere flips her ponytail behind. "Maybe I won't."

I unleash my sword out of the sheath, and I go in for a strike. Cashmere draws her own machete to block it. Smart choice over her throwing knives. I like fighting fair.

"Let's see what you've got," I demand. Our blades crisscross, miss each other, crisscross… we've both clearly had a lot of training. I'm impressed by her swordsmanship. Which is a good reason to murder her now, thereby eliminating my competition. We ignore the guys as they scream for peace between us.

Gloss yanks me away before things get uglier. "I like you, Enobaria, but if you kill my sister, I'll kill you. I don't wanna do that. Put the blade down. Both of you."

Cashmere and I don't listen.

"But she's just as bad as Katniss!" she exclaims. "Remember how she murdered Andrea and Link in the Games? The only reason she's alive is because she chewed his throat up like he was a piece of meat!"

My voice rises to a defensive shout. "He took away my weapons and pinned me down! What else could I do? You know how it is. And by the way, those stab wounds you gave Alec weren't gentle, either." Alec had been from my district. My responsibility. He almost won, until Cashmere went all-out with her knife. And they call _me_ a butcher.

It's here that I remind myself: she's not the enemy. We've been turned on each other _by_ the enemy. But she's delusional if she assumes I'd give my life to save her. Not happening. I drop my sword back into the belt.

Gloss strolls away to peek through our jungle hideout; just beside the beach.

"Well, what do we have here?" I hear him mumble.

Louder: "Hey, guys. I just found the Everdeen chick and her allies."

That makes us jump in excitement, racing to see them. How many are there? Who should we kill first? Which one's the biggest threat? Already I think of these questions.

Last year, Katniss had only two allies, at two different points in her Games. Now she has _five:_ Peeta, Johanna, Finnick, Wiress and Beetee. Beetee sits leaning on a palm tree, vine-made bandages wrapped around his waist. Seems that walking is out of the question for him. Not what I was anticipating, but I'm satisfied. I've taken away perhaps his greatest physical ability.

"Tick tock," Wiress tells her allies. Over. And over. And over. And over…

Ugh, is it annoying. But the more she says it, the more I think it's not just some crazy rant. She got through the Games with her intelligence, after all. Brain-damaged or not, Wiress is a genius.

_Bong!_

_Bong!_

_Bong!_

The chimes echo nine more times, digging inside my recent memories.

"Didn't we hear that yesterday?" I ask my allies.

"Sure did," Brutus confirms. "It must be significant."

Cashmere scratches her forehead, one hand on her hip. "Twelve chimes."

The Quarter Quell requires a new breed of evil; so everything's gotta be connected. I just can't figure out _how_.

Remember that lightning bolt storm I saw while I was running from the bloodbath? Yeah. It's back. Despite our distance, I can see each facet of electricity as it drains a tree. I don't think it'll be long until it's fried to the very last branch.

"Tick tock," I mutter.

Gloss looks at Cashmere. "What do those words remind you of, sis?"

"A clock." Her face lights up with recognition. "That's it! That explains why there are so many sections stemming from the Cornucopia, and why the obstacles repeat themselves. This arena functions like a clock."

Aha! Pretty cool idea, once you forget that each of us will be dead soon, anyways. Play our cards right, and humans, not snakes, plants, or lightning, are my downfall.

"One obstacle per hour," Brutus says.

"And they start again twelve hours later," I add. "You know what else? I think the chimes go off whenever it's twelve o'clock. So, noon or midnight equals lightning. Most of the jungle is safe right now; we just have to keep away from active sections during their hours."

"Which we don't know yet," Cashmere remarks.

Gloss exhales deeply. "Oh, how I love the Gamemakers."

Across the beach, Katniss seems to be piecing it all together, too. I haven't seen her so happy since she found Peeta camouflaged and alive in last year's Hunger Games. "Yes, tick tock," I hear her tell Wiress. "The arena's a clock. Wiress, you're a genius!"

"Crap," Cashmere mutters. "We have an advantage now, but so do _they_."

"Then we'd better get rid of the masterminds."


	11. Chapter 11

_"Out with the reason_

_In with the season_

_Taking down names_

_In my book of jealousy…_

_We were never welcome here."_

-Imagine Dragons

Katniss & co. start heading out to the Cornucopia once that big revelation is made. Just as we'd hoped. What better place to visualize this "clock" that we're stuck in? So we follow them as closely as we dare.

The four of us peer through giant palm leaves, observing our prey.

"I'll go first," Gloss whispers.

Cashmere puts a hand on his shoulder. "But they might hurt you. Let me lead instead…please?"

"Aw, don't give me those doe eyes, sis. I'm not changing my mind. It… it has to happen sometime. You know that."

My ears barely register Cashmere's voice as she mutters, "Screw the Hunger Games." Actually, in place of 'screw', she says a very un-Cashmere-like word. She speaks so quietly that the cameras probably don't pick it up.

"I love you, Cassie," Gloss tells her.

"Love you, Gloss. Be safe."

"I'll try."

She grabs her brother for a hug; and he kisses her cheek before departing. My stomach churns with the thought of their deaths approaching. Nothing could be more inevitable, in this deranged arena.

We're a sneaky bunch, treading up to the Cornucopia undetected. The nearest tribute is Wiress, and- someone shoot me, please- she's singing a ridiculous nursery rhyme. Forever stuck in childhood. Maybe that's how she copes, I suppose. But a little too weird for me.

Gloss cuts her neck, wrapping her in a chokehold so she can die painlessly. I doubt he expected to live through this… and he doesn't. Katniss shoots him right through his vocal cords.

"Gloss!" Cashmere exclaims.

_No,_ I wanna say,_ don't-_

She sprints for Katniss, too angry to think straight; and as a reward, Johanna's axe knocks her backwards. She's dead on impact.

Now they finally see me and Brutus.

Ready for action!

I throw a knife at Peeta, but Finnick jumps in his way, and it pierces Finnick's leg.

_Damn you_, I try to tell him with my facial expression. I don't wanna be responsible for his death. It would be like killing Lily herself. And- aw, do I feel a teardrop coming on? I _did_ just watch two good friends perish. They could've had wonderful lives.

Suddenly, I'm thrown off my feet, like somebody's thrown a rug out from under me. My attempts at regaining balance are derailed by the incessant spinning. All courtesy of the Gamemakers, I realize. I go rolling down the Cornucopia's edges, and the water drags me in fast. Kicking and pushing launches me back up for air. I see Brutus as he pops his head out, swimming to the beachside. Smart idea. I don't feel much like going to the Cornucopia now. We managed to salvage our weapons during the ride. But on land, we've got another problem.

"They flipped the clock around," I mutter.

Brutus punches his fist into a tree. "Stupid Gamemakers separated us! And we were so close to finishing them…"

_Were_ we, really? Because they outnumber us.

Other victors, I don't mind killing. But if I'm forced into battling my ex… I know neither of us would ever forgive ourselves. We should totally pull a 'star-crossed lovers' double suicide in that case. Even I must admit, Katniss was onto something when she placed the nightlock in Peeta's hands.

_What if I want to live, though? _A long, dark sigh escapes me. I despise tough choices.

"They can't hide forever," I tell him. "It's just us now, Brutus. Seven tributes."

"That's not including District Eleven, which makes _eight_, actually."

"Right." Chaff made a name for himself by remaining unnoticed during his Games until only three tributes were alive; and he came out of hiding to dominate his competition. Though he won, they took his left hand with them. I might not be physically able to end him- he'd almost certainly kill me. But Brutus is more than qualified for the job.

We take it easy after our roller-coaster of a morning. Walk around the jungle's edge, where beach in plain view. Tributes are harder to find at this point; Chaff being alone and Katniss running with the others. Once we _do _find Team Mockingjay, oh, it's on. We'll give the Capitol a bloodbath like they've never seen.

To my right, Brutus and I suddenly hear screams. Not exactly shocking. But they don't sound anything like the other victors here. This is confirmed by their words. They scream for Katniss. Finnick.

"That's Annie's voice," I realize aloud.

"And I think I hear the little sister of District Twelve," Brutus says. "The one she volunteered for."

Leading me to a simple conclusion: "Jabberjays. The Gamemakers recorded our family and friends…"

"So they could mess with our heads," my district partner finishes. I don't wanna know whose voices I'd be listening to. But I feel really bad for Katniss and Finnick. No lie. Because, most likely, the people behind the words are no longer breathing.

Brutus and I don't need to speak. We know that our section is next. There's no more hesitation; we simply begin running. The beach lingers so close that I can briefly observe each rock pathway. Our speed decreases after we pass one trail. Stops after the second.

That was a close one.

It's been over twenty-four hours without rest; which inspires a nap on smooth, gentle sand. Unconsciousness, oh how I missed you.

Night sweeps in while we alternate between sleep and guard duty. My whole being feels rejuvenated upon waking. I get a fancy alarm, too. "Horn of Plenty" booms through the jungle, prompting us to look up.

Our District 1 allies appear first. Gloss and Cashmere… they were so young still. At least they got to die together. Wiress looks determined in her portrait. She really had been a fighter, if not in the way that I am. I chose to fight physically; and she fought mentally. I remember watching her Games and (though I hate to admit it) admiring how fast, crafty, and stealthy she was.

There's… Mags. Aw. I should've realized she had passed when I saw Finnick without her earlier. He'd never abandon her. I hope she died peacefully. That woman _was_ peaceful. Kind. Even though she murdered _six_ tributes, she never screamed 'serial killer' to me. As an unspoken rule, we victors don't talk about our body counts. That's not what's important.

Of course, I think about my growing body count every day. I'm up to… _seven_? Yeah. Seven. Wow. I'm a terrible human being.

_Hey now, Enobaria. Don't go there._

The next fallen victor is District 5's female; she's followed by the District 6 female. I think I remember her real name: Megan. Everybody just called her Morphling. She was quiet. Reserved. Too consumed by morphling for real conversations.

Well, District 5, Cashmere, Gloss, Mags, Wiress, Megan… Maybe I'll see you soon.


	12. Chapter 12

Now's as good a time as any to start hunting again. You know what I mean. Two days in, and already, sixteen tributes are dead. Watching thirty-five Hunger Games has taught me that this is anything but typical. Usually, it's drawn out for a week, minimum. Only seven more of us will perish.

Something's up.

Brutus and I won't let darkness hamper our mission; we use the faint glow of jungle mist to guide us. This could become a wild goose chase, trudging around without a clue. Better than doing nothing. Luck is on our side tonight, and soon, we glimpse a human outline- just one. The glasses are unmistakable.

Beetee.

"Time to finish him off," I whisper to Brutus.

He nods, giving me the go-ahead.

I tiptoe along the jungle floor with a knife. I figure stabbing him in the same place as before should do it.

"Running out of time, genius," I say.

He jumps where he sits, startled by my presence.

"Enobaria! Please, could you just… wait a few minutes? Then you can have me."

Cryptic. What does he mean? Is he plotting another electric trap? Cause if so, I've gotta be extremely wary. Last trap he made crowned him victor.

_Don't think. Stab him. _

My wrist obeys this command, plunging the blade into Beetee's spine. Reopening that gash I made forty-eight hours ago. He falls unconscious, clinging to life. I'd give him ten minutes or so.

"Look what they're doing," Brutus notes. "Down on the ground."

Metal. My foot touches a wire. What's more, it's moving, trailing off towards the lightning tree.

"Cute. Katniss wants to destroy the arena," I hiss.

A plan they're carrying out as we speak... While I understand her anger, it seems kinda immature; suicidal, too. Does she want Snow coming down on her family- the sister she freaking volunteered for last year? Or her _district_? Girl needs to wake. Up. She knows District 13's story. Burn the arena? Bye-bye, District 12. I guarantee.

I swing my sword across the wire, and it breaks in two. _Oops. Sorry, Mockingjay_.

"Go!" someone yells.

From the corner of my eye, I discover a dark-haired woman with bangs, bashing something into another victor's head. Johanna. The person she clubbed is… Katniss. Ha. How fitting, that now her allies want nothing to do with her. Less work for me. Katniss screams while Johanna stabs her- though I can't see where. We should probably leave; yet my eyes remain glued on them.

But then, who should arrive but Finnick?

He's after us now. Well, the tables have certainly turned. I don't like the odds of me surviving in a battle against him, really. Finnick has grown twice my size.

"Come on!" he teases. "You know the drill."

No way. He remembers. Those days I spent at the Odair house; when he was little and he always forced me to chase him until my stomach cramped. Always ending in a playful tackle. I wouldn't have minded being a mother if he/she were a kid such as Finnick. Children are so cute. Innocent. He grew up way too fast.

Time sure makes disasters of us.

As luck would have it, he trips across a chubby branch, and the force of his fall knocks him out cold.

_Thank goodness_, I think. Maybe he won't awaken, so he doesn't have to be killed by me.

Somebody coughs- not me or Brutus or Finnick.

"Can you see where they are?" I ask him.

Brutus focuses in the direction of the cough, and soon, he says, "Yeah. Notice that dark skin? Has to be District Eleven." Raising his voice, he calls, "We know you're here, Eleven. Show yourself and let's fight."

"If that's how you want it." Indeed, when he emerges, we learn the figure is Chaff. Armed with just a single knife.

"You stay put," Brutus tells me. "I'll take care of him."

"Go get him, big guy," I say.

He tackles Chaff to the ground. Chaff can only do so much with one good hand, but he fights to get Brutus off of him. My district partner fights harder.

A snap of the neck seals Chaff's fate; and there goes another cannon. Not long after, we hear footsteps crunching.

Wonder of wonders. It's Peeta Mellark, wielding a machete. And he doesn't have dear Katniss to protect him. When Peeta finds Chaff's body, he runs a hand through his sweat-drenched hair, sighing.

"Seven left," he mutters. "You didn't die in vain, Chaff. I promise you."

"Well, hi there, _lover boy_," I tease, resurrecting his old nickname from last year.

Peeta watches us with petrified eyes. "Your violence knows no boundaries, does it? Only someone like you would have the nerve to kill a recovering drunk, handicapped man, when he didn't attack you."

"Why don't you do something about it, then?" Brutus jeers, grabbing his last spear.

"I will," he promises.

Oh, Brutus should make short work of this boy. He thrusts the spear unannounced, and Peeta narrowly dodges it as it flies by. District 12's baker boy thinks it's a good idea to run at Brutus next, while Brutus is weaponless.

Nope. Brutus can still take him. He grabs Peeta's dominant arm and twists, hard. I almost wince at the tortured expression Peeta wears. The pain causes him to drop his machete, like Brutus intended. Peeta goes for him anyways.

Clove once told us about Peeta's strength, how he swung a fifty-pound weight right through the spear rack. I shrugged it off then. He didn't bode very well when Cato wrestled him down and stabbed his leg. Almost died from an infection in the wound. But as Peeta tussles with Brutus, I finally see his power for myself. Okay. He's no weakling. Every punch that Brutus throws is returned by Peeta. At one point, they're both on their feet, pushing each other back and forth, back and forth. Soon- NO- Peeta has Brutus inches from a tree. He pounds the elder victor's head against it.

The cannon declares what I just foresaw: My last ally, my second district partner, a dear friend, is gone.

When Lily was murdered, I wasn't angry at her killer (though if you met Andrea, you'd probably say she got what she deserved, thank you very much). And I'm not angry at Peeta. Hunger Games aside, I really like him. It's the people who _forced_ him to be a killer that deserve the brunt of my fury. They can take Brutus away. But there's no erasing the memories of his touch. His addictive scent. The way our bodies molded together until we were one.

And _again_, I'm left with no option but to kill the (unintentional) murderer.

"Alright, lover boy," I say; "You're mine."

Suddenly… a blaze of electricity above. And that spark evolves into fire.


End file.
